


Bound in Honor

by Net_Foyet



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elder Scrolls Fusion, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Elder Scrolls Lore, F/M, Gen, Other, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Main Quest, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9453344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Net_Foyet/pseuds/Net_Foyet
Summary: Zofia was just a nord from Cyrodiil, a ranger fallen from Nocturnal's grace and on the run from the law. She thought that once she could escape to Skyrim, she could start a new life. But, Zofia never expected her life to turn like this, nor would she ever expect to fall for Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.With the Thalmor at her heels, Alduin's plan for destruction looming over her, and Nocturnal ever watching her movements, Zofia must try to make the right choices, or suffer the consequences.





	1. Awaken, Dovahkiin

Zofia stumbled through the dark and dangerous forest. Worn and wounded, she tried to continue, but her legs could take her no farther. Unaware of the surrounding area, she tripped over an exposed root in the ground and fell near the road toward Windhelm. Coughing and wheezing her limbs too pathetic to move, Zofia’s weary senses were diminishing, but she could hear something. Horse hooves, at least ten horses, beat the ground, and they were drawing nearer.  
“Help…” she hoarsely whispered and reached forward with scarred hands. “Please… Help…”  
A voice, deep and commanding spoke up, “Halt!”  
“Jarl, are you sure this is not a ruse? We cannot lose you again.”  
“I’m sure.” The unassailable voice stated. “I recognize her. She was with us in Helgen. She helped Ralof and I escape the dragon and General Tullius’ soldiers.”  
He knelt down to the nearly unconscious woman; she could almost feel the imposing supremacy emanate from him; could it be Ulfric Stormcloak? She had to see.   
Slowly, she raised her head; her violet eyes squinted to see the straight dark blond hair with a few locks braided. He looked exhausted from his long trip, but there was a fierce fire in his hazel eyes; something about them made Zofia feel safe.  
Weather-beaten hands pressed against her cheek and back; he held her gently while he stroked her aching, back, seeing her torn clothes. Zofia teared up; her cheeks flushed as she felt the warm, caring touch.  
“It’s alright,” Ulfric cooed gently as he caressed her cheek and felt her hot tears, “It’s alright, we’ll get you some help. You’re safe, Dovah.” He whispered the last word.  
The corners of Zofia’s lips curved slightly; she breathed a word of thanks as relief and safety filled her senses.  
She blacked out like a limp ragdoll.

“Sire, are you sure-”  
“Galmar,” Ulfric cut him off, “Help me with her, I’ll carry her into the city.”  
Unable to refuse an order, Galmar, Ulfric’s captain and bodyguard, carefully picked up the strange woman and followed Ulfric to his strong horse. He mounted, then held out his arms to relieve Galmar of the light, feminine burden.  
Placing her, so she was between his arms, Ulfric felt her beating heart against his chest; her head rested on his shoulder. He could see the frozen touch on her gentle features. How long had she been traveling like this? Not wanting her to catch her death, Ulfric wrapped the large pelted blanket around them, using his body heat to keep her warm.  
He ordered the caravan to move on.  
Moments rolled on like the snow falling around them. Galmar, who did not miss anything, watched as his Jarl, his brother-in-arms, held the strange woman as if she was his. He had never seen Ulfric care about someone like that.   
The captain of the guards knew that even before he killed the High King, Ulfric had trust issues; since he was just a whelp in fact. So, how could he trust someone like her so easily? Yes, she worked with the Stormcloaks to escape Helgen, but what if she a sly for attempting to kill Ulfric? What if her plan was interrupted by the Imperials, or the ancient dragon itself?  
As if he knew what Galmor was thinking, Ulfric spoke to him, and his troops. “This woman was wrongfully arrested for crossing the border. As she was approaching the block, the great dragon, Alduin, attacked. She survived the firestorm and helped Ralof and me escape. She is trustworthy and has just as much reason to hate the Imperials as we do.”  
“I just hope she does side with us.” Galmor spoke gruffly.

******

Zofia stirred groggily; she felt so comfortable in the warm bed that she did not want to get out or even get up. A crackling fire rekindled her senses, but no birds were chirping, so she knew that she was not outside. Unlike the inns with the smell of ale and sweat from the hard workers, the room smelled clean, like sandalwood, even the bed was softer than High Hrothgar or Breezehome. As she moved, she couldn't hear the ringmail armor Eorlund Graymane taught her to make.   
Slowly, she fluttered her eyes open and looked over to see her torn clothes, folded neatly on the intricate dresser the news stitching in the pattern told her that someone had it mended. Confused, Zofia lifted the covers and looked down, inside the warm quilt, she was wearing a man’s nightgown. It was heavy; the scent was familiar and soothing. Where had she caught that scent before?   
It hit her.   
Zofia bolted up right to see that she was in a large bedroom. The king sized bed was set in the middle of the room, on a raised platform. The warm fire behind her heated her slender, exposed neck and scarred backside. She felt the braids in her long hair pulled back away from her features; she had been washed, cleaned, and tangle-free.   
Calmed and still and out of danger, all Zofia wanted to do now was to go back to sleep and hide from the world. She faced her worst nightmare alone, she still needed to retrieve the horn for the Greybeards from whoever had stolen it, and she was caught in the heart of the coming war between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials. Rubbing her temples, Zofia was at a complete loss; the fate of Skyrim, possibly all of Tamriel, rested on her defeating Alduin.  
She was just one nord. A lone ranger forced into a position she had never intended to take.  
“Feeling better?” a deep voice spoke gently from behind her.  
Zofia turned to see Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak sitting in a chair by the fire, a book in his lap. Unlike their first meeting at Helgen, when he was bound and gagged, Ulfric stood more impressive like his former self before he was branded a prisoner and traitor.  
Zofia realized that she was in his bed. “Jarl Ulfric!” she jumped. The covers flew around and twisted her ankle causing her to fall to the ground. Panting, she pleaded as she tried to crawl away from him, “Forgive me; I did not realize this was your chamber. I will change immediately and leave.”  
Before she could get up, which she had trouble since her legs shook with fright; Ulfric was on his knees, next to her. He held her soft shoulders, feeling the chill of excitement run through her veins. “Calm down, Dovah. I placed you here myself. I cleaned your wounds and changed you out of your torn clothes.”  
“What?” she glanced at him, eyes wide with horror. “You set me in your bed? You dressed my wounds and…” her voice trailed off slightly, her eyes still lit with what he had done and seen, “you… you know who I am?”  
The grin he revealed made Zofia’s heart melt, “Akatosh's first born just happens to interrupt our execution, word goes around that a strange nord who was not from these lands slew a dragon at the Western Watchtower in Whiterun and absorbed its power.” Ulfric explained as he untangled her slender legs from the sheets; in the process, he stroked her quivering flesh, drawing closer to her with each breath. “And the Greybeards call the Dovahkiin from the Throat of the World?” He helped her stand up, “It was easy. However, I do not want to call you Dovah or Dragonborn. And of course, your name is not ‘prisoner’ as the Imperials called you. What is your name?”  
Zofia’s lips quivered, cheeks flushed, breathless with fear or anticipation, she whispered her own name.  
“Beautiful,” He broke into the first real smile and slid one arm around her lower back while his other held her cheek.   
He drew her in, so there was no space between them, “You were so serious and determined at Helgen it’s almost a relief to see you like this.” He must have felt Zofia’s flesh shudder with excitement because his lips neared the woman, he asked with a sly smirk, “Are you alright, Zofia?”  
She could not answer, her heart raced with thoughts and passes of him, her vision grew hazy, and she felt light headed. Back a Helgen?  
When Zofia first noticed him on the wagon, she felt a strange, alluring sensation towards him; or maybe it was just because they were about to share the same, barbaric fate of death.  
Ulfric pulled her out of her thoughts as he bent low, the tips of their nose’s touched, their hot breath mixed with the little space between them. Their hearts raced and pounded against each other’s chest. Breathless, their lips barely grazed against each other, ready to taste, to touch, to claim.


	2. Bittersweet Promise

KNOCK! KNOCK!  
The large fist pounding on the door shook both Ulfric and Zofia out of their tempting trance. Ulfric’s glance, which was, at first, filled with burning cheeks and a passionate gaze, turned cold; the back of his throat growled as he pulled Zofia against his chest and called out to the intruder. “I’m busy.”  
“Sir.” Galmor called from the other side of the doorway. “It’s important. We’ve received word that Imperial caravans will be trying to take Fort Amol.”  
“Then send some rangers and ambush them before they take it.”  
There was a pause, Ulfric knew why. He had never cared less about wanting to fight with the Imperials, to stop them from gaining land and regions; and it was because of this woman, Zofia. He wanted to know who she was, why she made him this way, her dark red hair, gentle green eyes, soft supple flesh… He wanted to explore it all.  
“My king,” Galmor finally stated, “They think we have the Dragonborn. The Thalmor are vying for the arrest, saying that the Dovahkiin brought back the dragons and she needs to be interrogated.”  
Ulfric’s fearful gaze turned to stare into Zofia’s; she could only respond with a small utterance of dread. They both knew that if she fell into the hands of the Thalmor, she would never be seen nor heard from again.  
He stroked her cheek and smiled reassuringly as he spoke to Galmor, “We don’t have the Dovah. We don’t know who they are. Send an undercover Imperial to drive them away from Windhelm.”  
“Very well, my Lord.” Galmor’s heavy footsteps walked away.

“I’m sorry.” Zofia whispered and tried to pull away, but the man’s strength only held her closer to him.  
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Ulfric did not want to let her go, but he knew that neither of them were safe in present company.  
Zofia felt her fingers grasp his chest and try to push him away; still he persisted and clung to her. She tried to explain “But, I put you in this debacle. I’m to blame for this trouble.”  
Ulfric’s finger pressed over her lips and paused her ramblings. “Zofia, the Imperials have wanted to try to get close to catch me for a long time, they think I summoned the dragons, the day I killed High King Torygg.”  
Zofia repulsed a little, but did not say anything on the subject. “Ulfric, I need to get out of here, they know who I am… At least, they know my name. I told Jarl Barlgruff about what happened when that dragon died at the watchtower. If he is supporting the Empire…”  
“Then he would have written to General Tullius about the events that took place.” Ulfric finished what she could not. With saddened eyes, he stroked her hair softly, “If you do go, when can I see you again?”  
“I don’t know…” Zofia shrunk away, with the world plunged into turmoil she doubted they would ever get a moment alone again – they were both wanted by the Thalmor and Imperials.  
“Where do you need to go? I can help you get out of the city and out of the region unharmed.”  
“I need to go to Riverwood, someone stole what the Greybeards required.”  
“Riverwood…” Ulfric repeated mutedly, “I can get you as far as Darkwater Crossing.”  
“Ulfric,” Zofia smiled weakly and held his strong jawline in her hands, “I can get there with no trouble. Don’t put your men in harm’s way just for me. The reason I was weak and stumbled near the road here was because I had to battle a dragon alone, on Shearpoint.”  
“You battled a dragon alone?”  
As Zofia nodded silently, she felt his hands grasp her neck, shoulders, arms, and waist; as if he wanted to memorize her flesh and figure before she was out of his clutches.  
“I did.” Her breath quickened as she felt her veins rush, the souls within her stirred her thoughts with lust, her blood boiled at the thought of bedding him; but she had to fight it. “Ulfric, please, I need to leave you…” she tried to stop him; however, her hands were clammy with the rush of exhilaration.  
“Zofia,” Ulfric’s lips were closer to hers as he whispered, “Let me at least give you this.”  
Zofia gasped to stop him but his warm lips pressed hard against her own. As Ulfric’s hand slid up behind her neck, the kiss deepened like a fiery passion; an unfamiliar and intoxicating zeal that filled them to the core. Heart racing, hands quivering, Zofia regretfully broke apart to breathe before smiling broadly, “Let me feel that again?” she asked timidly.  
Ulfric, smiled and kissed her again without question. The spark that lit like a match made the two weak with what could come, what they wanted.  
But realization of the state of Skyrim dawned on them. The passion, which was ardent, and all that sustained the two for the while, became dormant and quiet.  
Weak kneed, Zofia slipped from his grasp and sat on the edge of the bed.  
Saddened, Ulfric sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her, “You must go?”  
“Yes.” Zofia shook as she barely whispered the word. It was like a cold draft that chilled the bone and flesh. “I need to find a way to stop Alduin.”  
Unable to contain the fear that they might never see each other again, Ulfric guided Zofia back on the mattress, and again embraced her. Her shaking fingers caressed his neck and arms until his own fingers clasped in hers and stroked them tenderly.  
“I’m going to miss you…” he parted slightly and gazed into her large, stunning, tearful eyes.  
_When he was bound in the cart, on his way to Sovengarde, Ulfric observed silently as the Imperials knocked out the strange, unnamed woman when she tried to run past the caravan. He watched in disgust how they unceremoniously stripped her of her clothes and items until she was just a prisoner in rags. Her hands bound, her fate already decided. They threw her into the cart, and although he tried not to show it, Ulfric could not help but gaze at the woman; she laid on the bench, her long lashes closed. Her head and long deep red hair brushed against Ulfric’s thigh. When he felt the slight pressure against him, there was a rush of excitement that Ulfric never felt before. No one had been able to do that, he was never interested in a love life, until his gaze fell on her, a nord with no name and a fate already set in stone._

Recalling those memories, the Jarl felt as if time itself worked against him. However, if he had not killed the High King, if he had not been ambushed and caught, he might never have met the one creature who could push all other thoughts out and instead fill him with an obsession for long forgotten love and insatiable lust.  
“If the nine are listening, Ulfric, I swear to you that my heart will only and ever belong to you.” Zofia whispered. “No one shall part us from now until eternity."  
That promise caught his breath, he caressed her cheek, pressed her back into his bed, . In a hoarse undertone, he spoke, “Let the gods try to tear us apart, Zofia. You will always have my heart, and my sword.”  
Alone in his warm room, Ulfric and Zofia unquestionably and furtively locked away their passion, affection, and longing for each other and sealed it with an ardent, heart pounding kiss. 

_******_

An hour later, Ulfric watched with a heavy heart from his bedroom window as Zofia jumped the stone wall, to the cold, outer world. Just before she disappeared into the starless, cloudy night, her green eyes glanced up to the lonely window to give a sad reassuring smile to the man who helped her escape.  
As much as he tried, he could not return the bittersweet emotion, knowing that he may never see her again. 


	3. Lineage

Nearly a month had passed by; it was a late Middas, the twenty-second of Rain’s Hand. But to Zofia, it was just another day closer to the end.   
While she was stronger now, due mainly to the dragon souls within her, she still thought about that warming night where she and Ulfric had shared a special moment together. When she was not occupied, training with the Greybeards or fighting for her life or another, Zofia kept thinking about that one memory. How she longed to be back there, away from the troubles for only a moment.  
Why was she chosen for this path? She was not even a native of Skyrim; she came from a small farm in Cyrodill. And yet, here she was, a woman who felt alone in the world, abandoned by her parents, fought over to control, fighting to protect an entire land… and now, being used.  
“Dragonborn!” a shrill female voice cut through Zofia’s thoughts like the sharpest knife.  
“What?” Zofia jumped to see Delphine and Esbern stare at the woman.  
Delphine, seemed to lash her anger out at Zofia every time she was annoyed, which was no surprise. “Have you been listening to Esbern?”  
Zofia shrugged her shoulders as she knelt to gather blue mountain flowers. “Slightly? Look Delphie. I’m tired from walking, I’m weak from fighting, and I really need to meditate and eat. Having twelve souls in one host is not a bundle of laughs you know.”  
“Meditate?” Delphine questioned as she crossed her arms and cocked her hips, “Have the Greybeards already corrupted you?”  
Zofia stood a rigid stance, the stems in her hand were crushed and she shouted like the dragons within her. “At least they know how to keep their temper. All you’ve done lately is boss me around. The only reason I am visiting the Skyhaven Temple is to find a way to stop Alduin. Not to help you, or your precious Blades, so watch your tongue with me.”  
Esbern, who was quiet, spoke up, “Dragonborn, I was merely fascinated by the symbols marked in the stone, nothing informative, and I do not wish to boss you around. Delphine” he turned to his mentee, “You should really watch your temper.”  
The Blade member grunted but said nothing more.

Unable to look at her, Zofia walked on ahead of the two; why was she even helping them? What was she getting out of this deal? Master Arngeir was right, the Blades are selfish, and blinded by their own passion to destroy peace. She also hated how they kept calling her by her title and not her name. While traveling to Solitude, she had a chance to read about the Oblivion Crisis, how they swore to help the Dragonborn and follow him to the end… So, how did the order become corrupt? How did they lose their path and fall so far into a dark hole with no way to climb out?  
As she approached the puzzles, Zofia, who read as many books she could get her hands on, already knew how to pass them. 

She did with ease, mostly to ignore Delphine and Esbern’s conversation and slow pace.  
Steadily, she moved forward until her way was blocked. In a semi-circular room was a large carved face staring down at her. It was expressionless, yet seemed intimidating.  
Esbern approached her, “Ah, now this is interesting. Let’s see here.” He lit his torch and walked up to the face. “Hm… it looks as if the Dragonborn must draw blood on the Blood Seal in front of the face.”  
Zofia looked over at a large seal with symbols carved into the ground. Slowly she stepped into the middle, unsheathed her ebony dagger, and sliced the palm of her hand.   
As the warm blood slid down her closed fist, Zofia ignored the pain as she watched the drops fall onto the seal.  
A glowing light burst from the ground around her and trailed to the large face. His blank, impassive eyes glowed the same white illumination and the entire face cracked open, allowing the intruders to pass unscathed.   
Silently, Zofia stepped forward. As she did, she felt the dragon souls rush to the palm of her hand and heal the scar; one benefit of being who she was.  
Dephine murmured in disbelief, Esbern could not hide his excitement as he strode forward and examined a large stone mural.  
“Ah,” his voice echoed hauntingly. “This tells the story of the Alduin, first born of the God, Akatosh… And here, it says how the mortals used a shout to bind him and defeat him.”  
“What is the shout called?” Delphine asked.  
Zofia only half listened as she gazed at the ancient, preserved statues of the Dragonborn lineage along the wall of the stairs. Most of them were from the Septim line, all the way back to Tiber Septim. Before him was the statue of Wulfharth, Reman Cyrodill, Alessia, and a destroyed statue; the oldest one.  
Intrigued that this statue that started the bloodline would be destroyed, when all others were well preserved, Zofia knelt to read the name but it was etched out. It was as if someone wanted this first Dragonborn erased from history.  
“The shout name is…”  
“Who was the first Dragonborn?” Zofia asked, not realizing that Esbern was still talking.  
“I beg your pardon?” Esbern asked, not cruelly, but inquisitively.  
Zofia turned to face them, “The first Dragonborn. Who was he?”  
“I’m not sure. He was never mentioned when I was studying.”  
He stated that a little too fast, Zofia could tell as she advanced on the two. “You’re lying. Who was he?”  
“Dragonborn,” Esbern sighed, “The First Dragonborn was a man who turned his back on the world. He was filled with greed and lust for knowledge. His name, once revered, became a curse.” He paused then quickly said, “I do not know his name, so please do not ask me.”  
Even though she wasn’t fully satisfied, Zofia nodded. “So what is the shout name?”  
“I don’t know.” Esbern admitted.  
“Do you know of any shout?” Delphine turned and asked Zofia.  
“No. I can ask my master.”  
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” Delphine muttered.   
Affronted by her dislike, Zofia challenged, “What do you have against the Greybeards? What have they done to you to earn your hatred?”  
“If you followed their every rule, you’d be sitting on that mountain doing nothing but meditating.”  
“What’s wrong with that? I prefer meditating to senseless killing like you!”  
“You had no problem killing the Thalmor guards in the Ratways.” Delphine’s voice hardened.  
“Because they were attacking me and Esbern. Because they tortured a man and tried to torture Melborn. You really don’t care about others who aren’t your concern. The Greybeards are right about you.” 

Zofia backed away, in that dim light she could see the true face of Delphine. “The deal is off.”  
She ran out of the temple before they could stop her. Furthest from the Throat of the World, and from Windhelm, the Dragonborn felt alone in Skyrim. Out in the open of Karthspire, Zofia felt the morning sun hit her with a chill warmth. Goose bumps ran up her exposed flesh, as if it told her what she wanted. One part of her wanted to see Ulfric again, the other wanted her to stay away and focus on the mission.  
She chose the second path, even though she regretted the decision.


	4. SkyHaven Temple

Nearly a month had passed by; it was a late Middas, the twenty-second of Rain’s Hand. But to Zofia, it was just another day closer to the end.  
While she was stronger now, due mainly to the dragon souls within her, she still thought about that warming night where she and Ulfric had shared a special moment together. When she was not occupied, training with the Greybeards or fighting for her life or another, Zofia kept thinking about that one memory. How she longed to be back there, away from the troubles for only a moment.  
Why was she chosen for this path? She was not even a native of Skyrim; she came from a small farm in Cyrodill. And yet, here she was, a woman who felt alone in the world, abandoned by her parents, fought over to control, fighting to protect an entire land, and now, being used.  
“Dragonborn!” a shrill female voice cut through Zofia’s thoughts like the sharpest knife.  
“What?” Zofia jumped to see Delphine and Esbern stare at the woman.  
Delphine, seemed to lash her anger out at Zofia every time she was annoyed, which was no surprise. “Have you been listening to Esbern?”  
Zofia shrugged her shoulders as she knelt to gather blue mountain flowers. “Slightly? Look Delphie. I’m tired from walking, I’m weak from fighting, and I need to meditate and eat. Having twelve souls in one host is not a bundle of laughs you know.”  
“Meditate?” Delphine questioned as she crossed her arms and cocked her hips, “Have the Greybeards already corrupted you?”  
Zofia stood a rigid stance, the stems in her hand were crushed. She shouted with the help of the dragons within her. “At least they know how to keep their temper. All you’ve done lately is boss me around. The only reason I am visiting the Skyhaven Temple is to find a way to stop Alduin. Not to help you, or your precious Blades, so watch your tongue with me.”  
Esbern, who was quiet, spoke up, “Dragonborn, I was merely fascinated by the symbols marked in the stone, nothing informative, and I do not wish to boss you around. Delphine” he turned to his mentee, “You should watch your temper.”  
The Blade member grunted but said nothing more.  
Unable to look at her, Zofia walked on ahead of the two; why was she even helping them? What was she getting out of this deal? Master Arngeir was right, the Blades are selfish, and blinded by their passion for destroying peace. She also hated how they kept calling her by her title and not her name. While traveling to Solitude, she had a chance to read about the Oblivion Crisis, how they swore to help the Dragonborn and follow him to the end… So, how did the order become corrupt? How did they lose their path and fall so far into a dark hole with no way to climb out?  
As she approached the puzzles, Zofia, who read as many books she could get her hands on, already knew how to pass them.  
She did with ease, mostly to ignore Delphine and Esbern’s conversation and slow pace.  
Steadily, she moved forward until her way was blocked. In a semi-circular room was a large carved face staring down at her. It was expressionless, yet seemed intimidating.  
Esbern approached her, “Ah, now this is interesting. Let’s see here.” He lit his torch and walked up to the face. “Hm… it looks as if the Dragonborn must draw blood on the Blood Seal in front of the face.”  
Zofia looked over at a large seal with symbols carved into the ground. Slowly she stepped into the middle, unsheathed her ebony dagger, and sliced the palm of her hand.  
As the warm blood slid down her closed fist, Zofia ignored the pain as she watched the gore fall onto the seal.  
A glowing light burst from the ground around her and trailed to the large face. His blank, impassive eyes glowed the same white illumination and the entire face cracked open, allowing the intruders to pass unscathed.  
Silently, Zofia stepped forward. As she did, she felt the dragon souls rush to the palm of her hand and heal the scar; one benefit of being who she was.  
Dephine murmured in disbelief, Esbern could not hide his excitement as he strode forward and examined a large stone mural.  
“Ah,” his voice echoed hauntingly. “This tells the story of the Alduin, first born of the God, Akatosh… And here, it says how the mortals used a shout to bind him and defeat him.”  
“What is the shout called?” Delphine asked.  
Zofia only half listened as she gazed at the ancient, preserved statues of the Dragonborn lineage along the wall of the stairs. Most of them were from the Septim line, all the way back to Tiber Septim. Before him, was the statue of Wulfharth, Reman Cyrodill, Alessia, and a destroyed statue; the oldest one.  
Intrigued that this statue that started the bloodline would be destroyed, when all others were well preserved, Zofia knelt to read the name, but it was etched out. It was as if someone wanted this first Dragonborn erased from history.  
“The shout name is…”  
“Who was the first Dragonborn?” Zofia asked, not realizing that Esbern was still talking.  
“I beg your pardon?” Esbern asked, not cruelly, but inquisitively.  
Zofia turned to face them, “The first Dragonborn. Who was he?”  
“I’m not sure. He was never mentioned when I was studying.”  
He stated that a little too fast, Zofia could tell as she advanced on the two. “You’re lying. Who was he?”  
“Dragonborn,” Esbern sighed, “The First Dragonborn was a man who turned his back on the world. He was filled with greed and lust for knowledge. His name, once revered, became a curse.” He paused then quickly said, “I do not know his name, so please do not ask me.”  
Even though she wasn’t fully satisfied, Zofia nodded. “So what is the shout name?”  
“I don’t know.” Esbern admitted.  
“Do you know of any shout?” Delphine turned and asked Zofia.  
“No. I can ask my master.”  
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” Delphine muttered.  
Affronted by her dislike, Zofia challenged, “What do you have against the Greybeards? What have they done to you to earn your hatred?”  
“If you followed their every rule, you’d be sitting on that mountain doing nothing but meditating.”  
“What’s wrong with that? I prefer meditating to senseless killing like you!”  
“You had no problem killing the Thalmor guards in the Ratways.” Delphine’s voice hardened.  
“Because, they were attacking Esbern and me. Because, they tortured a man and tried to torture Melborn. You really don’t care about others who aren’t your concern. The Greybeards are right about you.”  
Zofia backed away, in that dim light she could see the true face of Delphine. “The deal is off.”  
She ran out of the temple before they could stop her. Furthest from the Throat of the World, and from Windhelm, the Dragonborn felt truly alone in Skyrim. Out in the open balcony of Karthspire, the morning sun hit her with a chill warmth. Goosebumps ran up her exposed flesh as if it told her what she wanted. One part of her wanted to see Ulfric again, and the other wanted her to stay away and focus on the mission.  
She chose the second path, even though she regretted the decision. She had an honor to fulfill, and no matter the cost, she would see it through to the end.


	5. Intentional and Unintentional

It had hardly escaped the Greybeard’s attention that Zofia was spending a greater part of the day in the Time Wound with their Mentor. Every morning she was found making the pilgrimage, having mastered the Clear Skies shout without wearing herself out. And every night she would return to dine with the Greybeards before using her teleportation spell to travel all over Skyrim.  
One night, while Arngeir was meditating in the front hall, the door to their sanctuary was thrown open and in stumbled Zofia, the cold winds pushing snow and ice in with her.  
Arngeir quickly closed the door when Zofia fell and he noticed that she clutched an elegantly carved scroll.  
“Zofia, are you alright?” he asked as he helped her up.  
Even though she tried to hide it, he could see the cuts and scars on her cheek, her torn armor. There was hope in her eyes. “Master,” she weakly smiled, “I found it. The Elder Scroll. I must go to Paarthurnax.”  
“You must calm yourself.” Arngeir insisted. “You can go to the peak tomorrow. If you continue to force yourself like this, you will die.”  
Snow kissed, cheeks burning from the cold, Zofia took deep breaths and nodded. He was right. After barely managing to survive the falmer then trying to escape that crazed Synod researcher, Zofia needed to meditate before using the ancient scroll. 

********  
Thrown forcibly from the past, Zofia found herself lying in the deep fresh snow in the time wound. Above her, the Elder Scroll shone brightly then closed and locked itself before falling next to her.   
Hair was falling around her in a mess, Zofia would have liked nothing better than to stay where she was and sleep, despite the frozen ground she lay upon.  
“So, Dovah.” Paarthurnax spoke in his deep, steady voice, “You have discovered Dragonrend. You now have the means to destroy us all.”  
Still lying on the ground, Zofia looked, upside down at the old and wise dragon with a smile, “Only against Alduin, Master. I am not heartless. And I respect the dragons even though most align with the first born.” She corrected.  
“No.” he agreed, “That is true. You are very wise for one so young, and you have the heart and soul of a true dovah.”  
Zofia smiled and gazed up into the clear sunny day. However, time was against her.  
The sky, which was clear, immediately turned dark, cold, and it snowed hard and fast. The typhoon of snowfall whipped around as a deep, cruel voice called out. “So, you have grown stronger, Dovahkiin. But you will never prevail. For I am Al-du-in, first born of Akatosh; and you, you will never defeat me.”  
Zofia stood up quickly and stared at the dragon who saved her neck, but tried to kill her in the process. She gripped her Daedric bow and arrow and aimed it at the black demon.  
“Dovah,” Paarthurnax yelled, “Use Dragonrend!”  
Zofia lowered her weapon, braced herself, and used the fearsome shout she had learned from mortals. The effect was instantaneous.   
Caught in a magical bind, Alduin crashed onto the large mountaintop, and Zofia took her chance. With her precise skills, she shot true at Alduin’s heart, but it was not enough.  
Free of the temporary bind, he took off and swooped around the mountain. When he came into view, she again used the tiring yet effective shout again causing him to land with a crash. Snow, dirt, and rocks flew in all directions and caused Zofia to shield herself.  
While he was down, she equipped her sword then hacked and slashed at the foul demon. To prevent him from flying away again, she used the mortal shout again. While it worked for the third time, her stamina was failing her.  
One more… One more! She thought to herself as she attacked Alduin, dodging his snapping mouth and fire breathing shout.  
Finally, she prevailed. He was too weak to fight back, but he could not die.  
Wheezing, the first born bowed his head, “You may have the likeness of my enemies, Dovahkiin, but you will never be them.”  
Using up his strength, he spread his black wings and flew off. Zofia tried to chase after him, but Paarthurnax stopped her.  
“You cannot hope to catch up to him. He fled to Sovengarde to regain his strength. Only there, can you go and defeat him.”  
“How can I get there without killing myself?”   
“Alduin has been defeated by you, the other dovah’s will know, some may even want to challenge you. If you were to call on one, then you can trap them and ask their help to take you to Sovengarde.”  
“How would I trap a dragon?” Zofia felt exasperated, tired, and wounded.  
“Use what you now call, Dragonsreach; it was originally built to house a dragon.”  
“Dragonsreach? The Jarl may not like that idea…” she pointed out the obvious. Although Jarl Balgruuf made her Thane, and trusted her judgment, asking something as impossible as this seemed farfetched. “I don’t always agree with the Jarl, but asking him to trap a dragon?”  
“This is true. It will be a hard task, but Dragonsreach once held a dragon. And as I said, young one you have the heart of a Dovah, you may be able to persuade him. You are not just destined to stop Alduin; you are destined to save this world.”  
Zofia nodded, not knowing what to do. After a great sigh, she bowed respectfully to the ancient dragon and ran down the mountain. As she passed through the monastery, Arngeir stopped her, worried.  
“Dragonborn, are you alright?”   
“Yes, sorry, Master. I just need to get to Dragonsreach. I almost defeated Alduin, but I need to go after him.”  
“Ah, we heard the cries and shouts, Zofia, you must rest. You look ill.”  
Even though this was true, she had slight burns and cuts on her flesh, Zofia shook her head, “I need to stop Alduin if I am to save this world.”  
“But if you do not rest, then he will destroy you before you even have a chance. Please spend a good night here first before you travel. We have a personal room for you set up. There, you may place all your research materials, and anything else you may have.”  
Grateful. That was the only word she could come up with. She nodded. “Thank you, Master.” She smiled and followed him to a nicely built room on the far corner of the monastery. 

When she was finally alone, Zofia dumped her items on the floor. As soon as she hit the soft pillow, the Dragonborn fell into a deep, restful sleep, feeling as if she had finally managed to accomplish something.

It was late, or early. Zofia tossed and turned in her sleep. She was, at first, back at Skyhaven Temple, staring in front of the destroyed statue of the first Dragonborn. Except, it was fixed. He was broad-shouldered with long, wavy hair falling around him, a dark glare in his sharp eyes; despite it being a statue, he looked real enough. Behind him, a stirring green sky that neither looked like day or night filled the void; there was a maze of steps and halls. Everywhere she could see books shelves, flying, floating, some were stacked so high she could not see the end. She wanted to enter that void, to see for herself. Behind her, she heard the voices of the cultists, the ones she fought in Morthal who claimed her to be a fraud, not a true Dragonborn.  
“You are a false god! Only Miraak is the true Dragonborn!”   
She turned to see ten of the cultists surrounding her. Behind them, she could see Hermaeus Mora floating, his many eyes focused on her, his slithering tentacles reaching out as if to grasp at any and all knowledge he can get his hands on.  
“Grab her.” Hermaeus’ dawdling voice echoed.  
Zofia tried to grab her weapon, but it was not with her. Strong hands behind her wrapped tightly around her, the statue of Miraak had come to life, he was holding her prisoner and with her arms by her chest, she was unable to free herself. As Hermaeus moved closer, the cultists fell into shadow, and she could see the largest eye watch her closely. Chest was pounding with fright, Zofia watched as the Daedric Prince loomed over her, reaching out to grab her.  
“In time, Dragonborn, You will be mine. When your days are done, your soul will belong to me, and all knowledge you carry within you.”  
One tentacle reached out to touch her forehead. Zofia tried to fight, to pull away. “No!” she tried to scream as his many limbs grabbed her and squeezed tightly.

Throwing the covers back, sweating with fright, Zofia sat up in her bed. Why did she kill Septimus? Why did she agree to the wretched Daedra? Yes. She asked for knowledge. But, Did Hermaeus truly intend to keep her soul? And what would happen then? Would her shell just become a toy? Would he use her, bind her to him so she could never see Sovengarde?  
Zofia would have to watch her back from now on and find a way to cut ties with the demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was debating what Hermaeus would do to her, but I leave it up to your imagination. ;)


	6. Peace and War

Zofia’s hands wrung together as she sat in the carriage, on her way to Solitude. Having to call a temporary peace council sounded like the worst idea she had ever thought of. But how else could she get Barlgruuf to agree to house a dragon for a short time?  
“It’s going to go badly.” She started ranting aloud. “Someone’s going to snap, and break something. Arngeir…, Ulfric…, or the Greybeards are going to use a shout and cause mass hysteria… I’m already caught in the middle! And to top that off I’m in love with the dissident and walking right into the lion’s den. I can only hope they don’t accuse me of trespassing into solitude without proper papers. Oh, Nocturnal, why have you condemned me so?”  
“Ma’am.” The carriage driver slightly cocked his head. “Are you alright?”  
“Huh?” Zofia looked up with a dazed look, then smiled unnervingly. “Yes. Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”  
There seemed like no hope. How could two enemies cease their battles for a while? They couldn’t… but Zofia had to try. Ever since Nocturnal stripped her of everything she held dear, Zofia prayed to the nine, asking for their guidance.  
And, here she was, on her way to see General Tullius first. She still did not know what do to when she entered Ulfric’s home – that is partially the reason why she chose Solitude first. The man she longed for would make her forget her duties to Skyrim, but she did long to see him, touch him, to taste him.  
No! She had to push him away, at least until she could finally destroy the World Eater once and for all… And figure out who Miraak was. Although, because of that dream, she finally had an idea and Solstheim was only a boat ride away.  
“We are here, traveler.” The driver motioned to Zofia as he parked the carriage near the stables.  
She thanked him and walked up to the large doors that led into Solitude.

“Is it so accustomed now that no one can knock before entering?” Tullius stated as soon as Zofia opened the door. He stared at her, “I know you…”  
Stiffening, she said, “I was at Helgen.”  
“Helgen…” Tullius slightly gasped, “You were the prisoner…”  
“The one your men exposed until I was nothing except a woman.” Zofia spat.  
“The ranger who illegally crossed the border with no papers or authority.”  
“I had my travel papers.” Zofia’s fists clenched tightly. “Your men just didn’t bother to look. You were so eager to kill as many dissidents as you could.”  
Tullius stiffened, “What can I do for you?”  
“I have a message from the Greybeards, to attend a peace council.”  
“A Peace Council?”  
“Yes. Alduin has returned, and to stop him, I need…”  
“I am not attending.” He stated harshly and hunched over his map of Skyrim.  
Enraged, Zofia grabbed the map that showed the regions and where they stood in political matters, and held it up to him, “Tullius, if you do not help me defeat Alduin, then there will not be an empire to fight for! Alduin’s reign is far greater and more fearsome than executing dissidents!”  
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “These dragons are a real problem… Alright. I’ll attend.”  
“Fine.” Zofia slammed the map down. “That’s settled then.”  
Before she could leave, however, Tullis said after her. “If I find this to be a ruse, prisoner, I will have your head.”  
Turning with a dark look agleam, Zofia smirked. “I’d like to see you try, Tullius.”

*****

It was the second day of traveling from Solitude. Sitting in the back of the carriage with other passengers, awaiting their destination in the wintery cold winds, Zofia vaguely heard the small talk around her, engrossed only in her battered copy of Immortal Blood. Not that she had a likeness to vampires, but she loved Morvarth’s tale of battles and redemption.  
“We’re nearly at Winterhold.” The driver called back.  
Zofia happened to look up; she could not see a thing past the road. The winds were reaching a breaking point; the snow created clouds that could not be broken through. The whistling made it hard to hear. The Dragonborn looked at the other passengers; a man in rags was trying to keep his hands warm, a mother holding her infant child close, and a father with his two small children by his side, huddled and buried in his lap.  
Feeling sorry for the passengers, as she was not bothered by this, Zofia took a brave step, stood up and shouted into the sky. She heard the screams and worries of the people around her, but they would soon thank her.  
The winds, the snow, and the fog cleared to a gorgeous bright day. Everyone looked up at Zofia in awe, and she sat back down. “Just to help.” She murmured and flushed.  
“Thank you, miss,” the driver looked back, he knew who she was, and he did not want her to remain under pressure. “We’ll be there sooner than planned.”  
The others stared at her in awe and fright. Zofia tried not to notice, but it was hard not to. “Please.” She asked quietly. “Do not speak of this. I only meant to help you. It’s too bitter.”  
“Thank you, ma’am.” The nesting mother smiled and held her child close.  
Seeing one act of gratitude, the others also thanked her, feeling the warm sun hit them.

Not far from Windhelm, a few Stormcloak soldiers approached the carriage. “Halt, how many?”  
“Seven.” The driver called back.  
The other guard saw the seven passengers then asked. “Did you hear shouting a moment ago?”  
Zofia stiffened and kept her face buried in her book.  
The driver asked. “Shouting? What are you talking about?”  
Surprised that he was an excellent liar, Zofia listened to the first soldier. “There was shouting a moment ago, then, the skies cleared as if there had not been a storm. You must’ve heard it!”  
“I’m sorry,” the driver said, “I didn’t hear anything.”  
After being allowed in, the passengers departed, thanked Zofia in an undertone, and walked away.  
“Thank you, sir.” Zofia petted the horse and thanked the driver.  
“Thank you. I know many fear you, but you have done much good for this world.” He smiled and went to tend to his horse.

Walking deliberately into Windhelm, taking slow, deep breaths, Zofia approached the Hall of the Kings. The Stormcloak guards gazed at her, wondering what woman had the nerve to approach; of course, they wouldn’t know her. However, they said nothing as she entered.  
It was nightfall, Ulfric, who sat at the table with Galmor and the other mutineers, looked up to see the intruder.  
Stone-faced, Zofia felt her cheeks flush, this was the first time in months that she had seen Ulfric, yet she knew she had to shut her heart away, this was neither the time nor the place.  
“Zofia,” Ulfric whispered and stood, he had half a mind to run to her and embrace her, but something held him back. “Please sit, you look cold and hungry.”  
“I am sorry to intrude, Jarl Ulfric.” Zofia stood at the other end of the table, not daring to go near him, “I come with an invitation from the Grey Beards.”  
“Invitation?”  
She nodded, “They ask that you attend a peace council with the Imperials, at least until the dovahs are dealt with.”  
Her still features hardened him, “Has General Tullius accepted?”  
“Yes. Even though he regrets it.”  
They gazed into each other’s eyes, still at the grave; they still found the secret they had kept.  
“I accept then.”  
“The meeting will take place in five days.” Zofia held up her hand and started to back away.  
“Would you like to stay the night? The winter nights are harsh to wandering travelers.” He gazed around at his guests, they were all confused by these two, how they met, and why they spoke so distantly towards each other.  
“Thank you, but I must decline. There’s too much at stake.” Zofia bowed, “Good day, my king.”  
She turned and left.  
Ulfric sat down; he felt an ache in his heart. That new Zofia was nothing like the one he had rescued before. Why the sudden change? He was about to go after her when his first in command stopped him.  
“My king?” Galmor tried to catch his attention.  
“Yes. What is it Galmor?” Ulric asked, even though he desperately wanted to be alone.  
“Are you sure you can trust her? Attending a peace council will likely be your end. We cannot trust the Imperials. No matter what the situation is.”  
“We need to go. It’s the only way I can…”  
Can what? Ulfric asked himself. Defeat Tullius? Or make Zofia his?

After retiring to his chamber, Ulfric walked in with weak legs. Even though their meeting was brief and distant, he still felt as if she had sapped him of his energy, using it to remind him of their pact.  
Closing the door behind him, pinching his brow, eyes closed and exhausted, there was the slightest movement behind him. He quickly unsheathed his sword and swung it behind him, but it was blocked by an elegant ebony bow. He glanced at the form, she was in complete darkness, but he knew the aura that was emitting from her.  
Breathing heavily, eyes wide from seeing her here, mouth slightly parted, Ulfric discarded his weapon and pulled Zofia into a deep kiss. She dropped her bow, hands grasping his arms and chest while his fingers ran through her hair. Cheeks burning, Ulfric groaned through short breaths, their lips locking together as they stood in the doorway. He slowly led her back against the wall, pressing his full weight against her, she pulled away from their embrace for a moment. “I needed this.”  
His lips kissed her cheek, neck, shoulder blade; his hands kept hers pinned against the wall. Shivers went down her spine as he released her arms and slowly started to undress her.  
“Ulfric… we can’t,” she begged, a chill coursing through her.  
“Why not?” he asked, his mouth finding hers again. “We both need this, Zofia. I’ve spent too many cold nights without you.”  
Moaning gently, she whispered. “We… we still have a war…”  
Forcing a harder moan out of her as he pressed her into the wall, Ulfric growled as his hands wrapped behind her thighs and lifted her up around his waist. “To hell with war, Zofia. You need this as much as I.”  
Aching to have him, Zofia managed to push him off. Her inner thighs warm with wanting, she fell on her hands and knees as if surrendering to a great foe. “You already cloud my thoughts, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.” She whispered, her head bowed, hair falling around her. “I cannot have my judgment clouded too. Not while we are both still in danger. I must go. I will see you at High Hrothgar.”  
Both throbbing with desperation, Ulfric watched as she disappeared before his very eyes.  
He fell back at the foot of his bed. There was no comparison to how much he needed her, and when he saw her again, he did not care where they were, he was going to make her submit to the longing they both wanted.


	7. The Jarl and the Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warning**  
> This is an explicit scene. and has nothing to do with the story itself. If you don't want to read such a scene, go to Chapter 8.

A small rapping at her door shook Zofia from her meditation. She had two days before the truce in High Hrothgar, and she needed a clear mind if she wanted to make this ridiculous plan work; it was hard enough making Tullius and Ulfric agree. Now, how could she create a temporary truce?

“Who is it?” she asked. She was not expecting someone, or anyone, to know where she sleeps, meditates, and works in peace.

When she asked the intruder to state their name again, the only answer was another knock. Sighing, Zofia stood up from the windowed platform that overlooked the Whiterun Hold and a small part of Eastmarch. She was thankful the Greybeards had a private room where she could stay – in fact, she was grateful towards them for protecting her; the best part was that she could practice her shouts without disturbing the Greybeards while they meditated. Under their wings, Zofia could control the souls within her, and she was thankful for that. She learned to be at ease, especially when she broke off ties to the Blades.

Not wanting to waste any more precious time with unwanted company, especially with the summit fast approaching, Zofia walked over and cracked opened the door to tell the intruder to go away, when her eyes widened as if Death had come to take her to Sovengarde.

Standing in her path, breathing hard as if he had just run a mile, snowflakes caught in his fur coat and windblown hair, Ulfric Stormcloak stood like a herculean statue, dark and menacing in her doorway. His green eyes bore into her own. His weather beaten frame caught Zofia’s breath; she felt the chill of his presence wrap around her and steal her soul.

“Ulfric…” Zofia felt her lips say as she reached forward to touch his cheek, not believing he was truly there, “What are you-”

Unspoken words would be left for later. His ice-cold finger pressed hard against her lips to silence her. He closed the door behind him, locked it tightly, and pulled Zofia into a deep, strong, and rough kiss. His cold facial hair tickled her skin as she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and returning the passionate embrace. 

While their ardor deepened with every passing second, Ulfric slowly guided her back to her desk. He unceremoniously pushed the scrolls, ink, quills, and books on the floor. He broke apart their contact for a mere heartbeat to force her down on the table before pinning her back, taking her hot, quivering lips against his again as he pressed into her.

“Ulfric,” Zofia tried to grasp the corners of the table, but the man already gripped her wrists and held them at her sides. Helpless under his strength was she was vulnerable, moaning as he kept grinding against her, “What are you doing here?”

In a hoarse, husky voice, Ulfric leaned close near her ear and whispered almost mechanically, “You’ve pushed me away far too long, Dovahkiin. You may have forgotten what we shared, but I have not. And I’ve come to remind you.”

His rough fingers caressed her slender sides, he pushed up far enough that his waist was positioned between her knees. Leaning on her elbows, Zofia felt his harsh hands tug and unraveled the belt around her hips, throwing off the meditation robes to see her milky soft flesh. 

“Please… wait!” Zofia begged, but Ulfric could not, or would not listen. When Zofia met his eyes again, she saw the lust in his eyes and fell victim; she could not resist him, not anymore.

Her voice failing, Zofia responded by roughly removing his restrictive clothing, She lost her breath when she saw him. Underneath all the heavy furs, hide, and armor, Ulfric was well developed. There was not a single soft spot on his hard statuesque body; including the thick weight between his legs. He pressed against her, teasing her with every breath. "Like what you see, Dragonborn?"

"Yes." she could only manage. 

"What do you want?"

"You."

"Me... what?" he grazed her ear and neck. "What do you want of me?"

"I just want you." One hand wrapped behind his neck as the other slid down his muscular torso and slowly stroked him.

He was just about to lift her up on the table when she stopped him. She would not let him have her so easily. Swiftly, she pressed him against the chair, and slid to her knees, her long fingers tracing down his chest before grasping his hard member, slowly stroking him with her entire hand, her tongue tasting his warm tip. Zofia grasped the tender weight and caressed him carefully; her tongue stroked and lathered every inch of him until he was panting wantonly. Slowly, she took his member in between her moist lips and drew him in until she could not go any further. Steadily, she pulled out and took him again, sucking him a little faster the more she moved. His hands ran through her hair, gritting his teeth and urging her on. Caught up in the ecstasy, Ulfric groaned and leaned against the chair to hold his balance. He felt the small pricks of pleasure on his lower back the more she took him.

Her own fingers slowly slid down and teased her own womanhood; she was already damp with desire. Before he let her go any further, Ulfric pulled out and picked her up, replacing her hand with his, fingering her sensitive skin until she was clenching and gasping. He turned her so she was bent over the table. He teased her with two fingers, the insatiable lust filling him until all he heard was her gentle voice calling his name, pleaded for him to take her.

"Do you give yourself to me willingly?" his hand fell near her shoulder as he hunched over, his head pressing against her.

"I do."

It had been too long since they had been truly alone; too long since he first wanted to feel what it was like to take the Dragonborn. He teased her skin with his fleshy tip, and slowly penetrated the velvety form and continued to push until his hips hit her firm rear. They both gasped as the lust took them by surprise. Quivering from their ankles to their necks, they felt a strong urge that could not be contained. Rocking his hips slowly, feeling every part of her tightness, Ulfric made sure she knew who dominated her. He wanted her to know that she was his and his alone.

Trying to steady himself from losing all control, Ulfric slowly thrust in and out of her in a broken fashion, his fingers massaged her sides, as he felt her hot fluids consume him like a blazing wildfire.

“Please… Zofia begged and writhed, “Please go faster…”

With a wry smile, he felt his hips throb with pain as he picked up the rhythm. Unable to stop, sweat forming, he tried to pace himself. He grabbed Zofia and turned her to face him. He grabbed her firm thighs and picked her up before pressing her against a stone cold wall. With her fingers grasping and clutching at the man’s cheeks and neck, Ulfric pounded roughly into her, his rocking with every thrust. They kissed deeply, wetting their parched throats, their tongues curling together.  
Held between his hot flesh and the stone cold wall, moaning and whimpering in his mouth, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, accepting him to her core.  
“Ulfric…” she whispered when they broke apart, shivers crawling over her skin.

“Gods, Zofia…” Ulfric breathed heavily in her ear. "You are only mine.”

They kissed each other desperately, as he took every inch of her as his; claiming her, binding her to his side forever. He felt close, his pelvis stiffening; while he wanted to keep going, to keep thrusting into her soft, tight, flesh, he knew he wanted to savor her for the rest of his time. One more thrust and she uttered a cry as she felt both him and herself climaxing. She shuddered with delight as she whispered, “I am yours, my king.”

Exhaustion hit them like the crashing waves, Ulfric lowered her and turned to get his clothes, when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him to bed. “Where do you think you are going?”

“You need to meditate.” Ulfric sighed wearily, his heart still pounding against his chest.

“I need you with me, Ulfric.” Zofia kissing him again, she led him to the bed.

While she felt empty between her thighs, there was the undeniable taste of satisfaction.


	8. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first I'm actually focusing on the plot and scene you go through in-game.  
> I just decided to change the conversation around.

“Jarl Ulfric, it has been too long since you were last here.” Arngeir commented politely, even though the meaning was very different.

“Master Arngeir, it is good to see you again. I see the Greybeards are well.” Ulfric spoke in that same, cool tone. Even though the last time they spoke was anything but mutual.

It was the morning of the Summit, the Greybeards all sensed that dreaded fear that bloodshed would break out in this former Hall of peace. The four monks stood proud and stoic in the entryway, welcoming the Warriors of dismay at Zofia’s request. And yet, she was still nowhere to be seen.

“May I ask where the Dragonborn is? Surely she, of all people, wound want to be here.” Ulfric asked. In fact, he hadn’t seen her after the night they shared. He had awakened alone, Zofia’s armor and weapons gone, and a note left for him:

I will return soon.

“She said she had to do something before the summit. But, she would return in time.” Arngeir looked as if he wanted to ask the Jarl something. And it was not in his nature to be the inquisitive one. “Ulfric, why did you leave?”

The Jarl tried to look angry, but this was his former master and mentor. “I was too impatient and brash. After my father had been killed, I came here to learn the Way of the Shout to fight back. But, I should have known better that that is not what this hall or the Greybeards represent. I failed where Zofia has succeeded.”

“She is wise beyond her years.” Arngeir agreed, even though he would never say this to her. “I see the same fire in her that I saw in you, yet, she is capable of taming it. She has mastered her emotions very well.”

*****

“C’mon on you yellow-bellied milk drinkers! Come at me and strike me down!” Zofia yelled her taunts at the cultists from atop the large rocks. Firing a hail of arrows at them, she laughed as they tried to hit her with their measly spells. They watched as she threw a shout, not realizing how powerful the ‘false Dragonborn’ had become. “Tiid klo UL!”

As they tried to throw more spells in her direction, they watched as she moved at an unnatural speed, her aim deadly as her dragon bone arrows split through their masks, aimed at their foreheads.  
As time sped up again for the dead, Zofia pulled the arrows from her foe and rummaged through their pouches, looking for some indication as to why they were attacking her, and she pocketed the few septims they carried.

When she was finally done, she realized the time. Cursing, she continued running up the mountain, praying she would not be too late.

Huffing, panting, Zofia walked into High Hrothgar and at first did not realize that she passed Delphine and Esbern on the way. 

“For… forgive me, master, for my lateness.” Zofia clutched a stitch in her side. “I was… set upon, by more of Miraak’s cultists.”

“That is alright, though, I hope you realize that we are breaking our code by admitting these warriors of hate in our walls.”

Holding her lips tight, exhaling through her nose, Zofia turned in time to see the remaining Blades approach. Her look darkened as she stepped behind the Greybeards, hoping they would protect her.

“You have no reason to be here.” Arngeir stated coldly.

“We have every reason to be here. We are representing the Blades.” Delphine argued. “This meeting wouldn’t even be happening if not for us. The Dragonborn would still be in the dark.”

“Just like the Blades to take credit. You have been trying to dissuade the Dragonborn from her rightful duties.”

“What?” Delphine took a step forward. “Sitting on a mountain all day? Talking to the sky?”  
“The Blades have no right to be here.” Zofia finally said. “This is for a peace council, Delphine.”  
Red-faced, the woman was about to fire back, when Esbern stopped her. “Delphine. Please. Master Greybeards, we have information on the dragons that may prove useful to stopping them. We come with no quarrel, and only offer assistance.”

Stiffening, Arngeir said, “Very well.”

As they walked passed, Zofia complained, “But… Master! How could you let them? They have no-”  
“Zofia,” he waited until the other two were out of earshot. “While I do not like to admit it, without them, you would not have discovered a way to defeat Alduin.”

“They took no part in this, Master. They only needed help getting into Sky Haven Temple. They only wanted my help in getting past the puzzles; they needed my blood to do so!”

“We cannot rewrite the past, all we can do is hope to improve our actions.” 

He and the others started walking toward the meeting, Zofia walking behind, reflecting on his words. As she strode past Tullius, Elenwen, Legate Rikki, Elisif, and Barlgruuf, Zofia chanced a glance at Ulfric and winked with a small smile. 

He bowed his head as if to rid himself of a headache, but Zofia knew he too was acknowledging her appearance. 

Seating herself, Zofia took a drink, and Arngeir spoke first. “Welcome, all…”  
“Hold on.” Ulfric stopped him. “That Thalmor bitch has no reason to be here.”  
“And here we go.” Legate Rikki sighed.

“I have every reason. We need to ensure that this negotiation does not impede the White-Gold Concordat.”

“Actually,” Zofia rubbed her jaw, “You don’t. This matter involves Skyrim’s holds, not the Empire, and certainly not the Thalmor.”

Standing, Elenwen said harshly. “You are no native of Skyrim either, Dragonborn. In fact, I heard that you were caught crossing into these lands without proper papers. And your dark mistress could not help as you had fallen from her grace. 

“Oh,” Zofia smirked. “So you do know Nocturnal. You want to update your records, Elenwen. I left her service. And I had proper authority to cross until they were burned by your agents and thrown into the lion’s den.”

Elenwen had nothing to say. Instead, she directed her anger towards Ulfric. “Enjoy your temporary win, Ulfric. It may be your last.”

Surprised that the first argument went smoothly, the negotiation was not so fortunate the longer it went on. Soon, Tullius and Ulfric were standing, yelling at each other for the wrongs they’ve done, all thoughts on concession long forgotten.

“ENOUGH!” Zofia stood using the dragons within her to shout them into silence; her untamed and unwanted magic causing the fire in the middle to increase and heat up the entire room. Heart pounding, she glared at both of them. “That. Is. Enough.”

“Zofia,” Ulfric started. “You know what that man is, what he did-”

“I know what he did, Ulfric. I know what he was about to do, to you, to me… I have not forgotten Helgen. But, I also know that, in some cases, you too were at fault.”

Tullius was about to talk when Zofia shut him up. “You come into this land and try to take it over, Tullius. What you are doing is wrong. But, right now, none of that matters. If you two keep quarreling over land and faults like this, then there will be nothing to quarrel over. They Greybeards accepted you into High Hrothgar at my behest; I now see why they were against it. But, Alduin is the real threat, to both sides. I have seen him raise his most loyal followers from their graves. They don’t care who they attack, Imperial or Stormcloaks alike, it doesn’t matter to them. Until Alduin, the World-Eater is dead, I need you both to a cease-fire and not to attack Whiterun’s hold. Can you agree?”

Glaring at each other, imagining the other was being struck down, they both nodded. Sighing, Zofia sat down as if exhausted. She let Arngeir finish the negotiations. Ulfric and Galmar left soon after that, and it was just Tullius, Elisif, Barlgruuf, Rikki, and the Blades left. Listening to Esbern on what he found, the calling of a dragon, Zofia still did not trust them, and soon, she found out why.

The meeting adjourned, Delphine approached Zofia. “We know about Paarthurnax.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Zofia decided to play dumb.

“Parrthurnax? The dragon?” Delphine stated as if she was talking to someone stupid. “The one the Greybeards have been protecting all these years?”

“What does this ancient dragon have to do with the now, Delphie?” Zofia asked, crossing her arms.

“He needs to die. He was Alduin’s right hand. It’s only a matter of time before he returns to Alduin’s side.”

“And yet, he’s been nothing but helpful.”

Delphine took a step forward, glaring at her. “You need to kill him. Unless you do, it goes against our oath to associate with you.”

“Okay.” Zofia shrugged and smirked coldly. “I’m fine with that. Bye.”

Yelling now, Delphine stated, “It is your duty as the Dragonborn to slay all dragons. As the former Dragonborns have done!”

“And yet, Tiber Septim never slew a dragon, the blades still followed him.”

“Because there were no dragons then. Had there been, he too would have slain them”

“You see all dragons as bad, Delphine. But I do not. They only followed Alduin because he reigned. Now that he is no longer as powerful as he was, the dragons will not be so quick to join him.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do. The ones he raised, were bound in honor to follow him. Paarthuurnax, who has not done so, follows the Way of the Voice. When I fought Alduin, Paarthurnax attacked him, not me.”

“He still needs to die.”

“Good luck, because I will not kill him. And, if you try to, then I will strike you down myself.”

Glaring at her one last time, she followed Esbern out of High Hrothgar for the last time.

“Master,” Zofia said, knowing that he had listened to the entire conversation. “I fear she’ll try to complete the deed.”

“Then, she’ll be wasting her life. I’m proud of you, for standing up to them.” Arngeir stepped out from behind the shadows, and they walked through the hall, the afternoon sun shimmering through the distorted glass windows.

Laughing, she said, “They are too brash, I read about the blades during the Oblivion Crisis, they were not like this. What changed?”

“Everything, and nothing. I am proud of you, for standing up to them, for fighting for what you believe, and for protecting Paarthurnax. Worry not, only those who can cease the winds can step upon the throat of the world. But, you have somewhere else to be.”

Nodding, Zofia started to walk out, when she turned, and said, “If I do not return, I want to thank you, for all that you’ve done.”

“Skies guide your path, Zofia.”


	9. Pact and Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry think took so long - it was one thing after another, and was at Katsucon this weekend :D Syndicate on Friday, Division on Saturday, and Syndicate/Sims on Sunday - if you were there.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Zofia commented as she and Jarl Balgruuf walked out onto the Great Porch in Dragonsreach.

“You’re going to be sick?” the Jarl asked “How do you think I feel? I’m putting all of Whiterun in danger by allowing you call a dragon here.”

Holding her lips as she quietly held back any sickness, Zofia said, “Thank you again. I know this is the very last thing you would want…”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover what I want.”

“But…” She continued, trying to ignore his comments, “I know this will do all of us well in the end.”

Almost glaring at the young woman, Balgruuf called to his guards on the catwalks. “Is the trap ready?”

“Yes, sir!”

“After you, Dragonborn.” The Jarl held his hand in a mocking fashion, trying to prepare himself for the worst.

Sighing, Zofia commented as she walked to the balcony. “And I thought: joining the Companions and glorifying their name, buying a house and raising the income on this hold would alleviate your hostility towards me.”

“You are summoning a dragon to my city, how do you expect me to act?”

“I don’t know.” She walked backward and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe happy that this is happening here and not in the middle of the city?”

“I would be happier if it were somewhere else!”

Quietly, she agreed. While she read the tale of Olaf and Numinex, how he kept the beast as a pet after he captured it, she glanced at the towering porch with… guilt. While she detested the dragons who attacked her or her kinsmen, she knew it was wrong to have them as pets. And while there was the skull of a dragon hanging as a trophy in the throne room, Zofia had to doubt that tale because of what Paarthurnax told her. 

“Everyone, stay low!” she shouted to the guards, praying to Talos that they would be smart enough to move when they saw a hulking great beast bear down upon them.  
Breathing in the fresh, bitter morning air, Zofia shouted the dragon’s name with boundless resonance. 

For a moment, Zofia thought the call had not worked. Had she mispronounced the name? No, she was positive Esbern gave her the right--

She felt a chill in her bones as a loud and haunting roar answered her call. Having to squint her eyes, as it was a rare clear, sunny day, Zofia gulped as she spotted a massive form approaching from the east. As it came closer, she could just barely make out his beating wings; his sleek scales were the color of blood, she could see many ebony horns on his head and all down his large spine. 

“By the eight!” some of the guards shouted, readying their weapons  
Nine! Zofia though to herself as she too readied her bow. As he came upon the great porch, he roared while breathing fire; Zofia quickly dodged the attack, one of the guards was not so lucky as all that was left of him were the ashes. 

The dragon circled Dragonsreach and Zofia only knew she had one shot. As his claws grabbed another soldier, lifting him up and letting him fall like a rag doll, he came around the other side and Zofia threw the human-made shout. 

It was a perfect catch. The electric blue force grappled Odahviing like a fish in a net, his wings seized up, and he landed on the porch. Glaring at Zofia, he followed her inside. Backed against the door, he was just about to breathe fire upon her when the trap came down and snapped around his neck.

The guards were cheering, grateful that the trap worked!

Knowing his fire breath was mostly contained, Zofia bravely approached him, and he began talking in the dragon tongue. Out of his slow, deep, words, she was only able to recognize one: Dovahkiin.

Speaking in the common tongue, he said. “I forget. You may have the blood of a dovah, but you do not speak like a dovah.

“No. But I’m willing to learn.” Zofia shrugged. Had she not met Paarthurnax, she would’ve thought that speaking to a civil dragon was weird enough, with all the crazy shit going around.

Something similar to a chuckle resounded in the back of the dragon’s throat. “Amusing. Dovahkiin, you must have gone through a great amount of trouble to put me in this… humiliating position.”

“Nope. No trouble, though, I can’t say the same for the guards.”  
“Then why?”

“Alduin.” Zofia deadpanned.

Odahviing hummed. “You wish to travel to the jer strunmah… The Eastern Mountains… to the land of the dead.”

“If that is where Alduin makes berth, then so must I. I cannot truly defeat him on this plane, he does not wish to face me. So, I must follow him to Sovengarde and make sure he never rises again.” Zofia stood a little straighter.”

“It seems Alduin’s lordship has been tested, young Dovah. He has proven that he can no longer lead us and the dov agree that his feyn… his bane… has come to an end.”  
“So, you’ll help?” 

“Geh. I will aid you, though… there is one problem.”

“What is it?”

“To get to Skuldafn, Alduin’s temple, the only way to get there is by Bo. Flight.”  
Pacing back and forth in front of the great beast, Zofia held her chin and spoke, more to herself, than to Odahviing. “That does put me in a predicament. Being human and not a true dovah with the great power of flight, like you, I don’t see how I can get there. Unless, a prideful, great dov helps. Hum… Perhaps I can ask Paarthurnax.”

“Ah.” Odahviing interrupted her as if to show her that he was such a dov she named. “As I am, perhaps, already in your service, I may help. I know where Skuldafn is, Dovahkiin.”

Smiling, Zofia said, “So, you will take me?”

“Release me, and I will.”

Zofia walked away towards the upper rafters just as Farengar walked in. Seeing the dragon, alive, his squeal of delight could not be contained. “Master of the Skies. I bid you welcome.” He bowed ostentatiously. “I wonder if perhaps I may ask you a few questions, and a few samples, for scientific research purposes only.”

Trying not to gag that he was sucking up to the dragon, Zofia requested that they guards release the dragon. 

“I am here because of the Dovahkiin only, joor. Do not test me.” Odahviing responded coldly. 

“But, I implore you, great one, I wish to learn more of the dragons. It has been a life-long dream!” the court mage tried desperately to gather a scale or two.

The guard meanwhile asked Zofia, “Are you sure? It took a lot of trouble getting him here. How do we know he will not attack again?”

“Do it!” she commanded just as Odahviing threatened Farengar with a burst of fire. His tail burning, he ran from the room, screaming a high-pitched scream. 

Reluctant to disobey a woman who could command dragons, the guards released Odahviing.

Free, he walked out of the confining space as Zofia ran to his side, just dodging his swinging tail. He stretched his wings and inhaled the air. “Did you know about him?” he asked her. “Or were you hoping that I would make him flee?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, oh great Master of the Skies.” Zofia grinned.  
He chuckled again, the back of his throat glowing with the lick of the flames. “Are you ready to see the world as only a dov can?”

“I am.” She watched the Eastern Mountains as black smoke emitted from the horizon; Alduin was gathering his strength. 

“Are you ready to face the Eater of Worlds? Akatosh’s first-born? The devourer of souls?”

“I am.”

“Are you ready to enter the Lein Do Dilon? The World of the Dead?”

“I am.”

“Then, climb on my back, and I will lead you.” he bowed his long neck and Zofia grabbed a horn to lift herself up, seating herself right behind his head. “Be careful, young one, once you taste the skies, your want for flight will only grow.”

He took off suddenly, Zofia had to grasp both horns to keep steady. She closed her eyes tight, feeling his steady movements, her breath quickened as if she was losing air. Slowly, she opened one eye and felt dizzy. The people below her looked like small ants, Dragonsreach looked like a toy house she could simply pick up and move.

“Look to the skies, Dovah, not the ground.” Odahviing’s voice emanated through his neck, and she listened. At eye level, she saw the Throat of the World behind her, to the north, she saw Windhelm though vague; it was then, she forgot to say goodbye to Ulfric. Would she see him again? Or, would her body and soul forever lay in the plane of Sovengarde?

Even though it was early spring, she could feel the warm sun hit her shoulders, the clear blue skies caught her attention, and slowly, she released her hold on the dragon’s horn. Legs holding her tightly, she lifted her arms, raised her head, and closed her eyes, the wind blew through her hair, nipped at her cheek and still this was the most wonderful feeling.


	10. to Eternity

Crossing the Eastern Mountains, Zofia was too excited about this new form of traveling that she nearly forgot to look over at Windhelm; when she did, it was already behind them. The Dragonborn thought it would be for the best; if killing Alduin meant the death of her as well, then so be it. If her body and soul had to remain in Sovengarde, she would do so with a full and an unrepentant heart.  
Landing just before a large, ancient archway, Zofia stared in awe. The ancient ruins still stood, the carvings that might’ve been on had been whisked away by years and the harsh elements. Built like a monument reaching the skies, in the middle of the tallest peak, Zofia saw a large contained whirlwind of energy.   
“This is as far as I dare take you.” Odahviing’s deep voice broke her concentration. “Follow the path to the end of the world, and there you will find the entrance to Sovengarde.”  
“Thank you.” Zofia smiled but it did not reach her eyes. The thought of entering the afterlife when she, herself, was not dead, was less than inviting.  
Odahviing sensed her hesitant attitude. “You are very strong, for a mortal. Perhaps stronger than most. I will await your return, or Alduin’s, Dovah.”

He took off before Zofia could thank him and sighed… when she heard a sudden whistling noise and just barely dodged an arrow that clipped her hair.  
Cursing and taking cover. She saw four or five draugr firing arrows or throwing their voice like the old dragon tongued warriors. Using her own arrows and better bow, she easily took down the archers, Zofia had a harder time taking down the others. She quickly switched weapons to her duel blades and activated her stealth cloak. Silently, she approached the creature who had lost sight of her, and attacked with all her might. With the undead creatures down, she glanced around at the ancient structure. Most of the stone carvings were crumbling, either by dragons or weather, the grand staircase, a bridge, and towers were cracked and lain about.  
While it was mainly unsightly, Zofia vaguely wondered what it’s former grandeur looked like, when priests and worshippers would walk the steps she was about to ascend and sacrifice to the gods. Her foot didn’t even touch the ground when a dark and sinister voice echoed around her.  
“You are not welcome, she who seeks the other world. You are not welcome.”  
Zofia felt a chill down her back that did not relate to the snowy weather and at that moment, she felt… Abandoned. As if the gods had condemned her to her fate, as if Odahviing had knowingly sent her to die.  
Fists clenching, she swallowed her fear and kept walking.  
The voice spoke again, more wretched and menacing. “You, who steals the souls of the dead, who walk on the bones of your enemies, must turn and live, or continue and die.”  
“I am not giving in!” Zofia shouted back climbing further up the stairs, the powerful force between life and death emanating, creating harsh winds that tried to push her back.  
“You, who still breathes, dare breach the end of the world? To reclaim a lover perhaps? Or settle a debt… Ah.” The voice clearly understood. “You seek the destruction of the World-Eater? You wish to end the life of my First-born.”  
Stunned, Zofia reached the base of the final steps where a decrepit Dragon Priest floated and circled the path, guarding the portal.  
“You…” Zofia faltered, “You are Akatosh…”  
“No.” the voice behind the creature spoke, and within the light of the portal, a large face appeared, similar to the one at Skyhaven Temple. “I am.”  
Half-bowing, Zofia spoke, “You know what he has done, you know that his reign needs to end. Please.”  
The large face glowered, “Strange. You seek permission to end my child’s life in the realm where only the dead pass.”  
“Lord Akatosh,” Zofia started, wondering how she would get in. the portal was only ten steps away… “I am not going to beg. So many lives have been lost already, and I fear more will with the oncoming war between Skyrim and the Empire. In the past, Alduin may have been a wonder to us mortals… But, he has become a danger, not only to us, but to his kin. He will not listen to reason, and will not listen to you.”  
Just then. Zofia heard the sound of drums beating like her heart.  
*Speech increased to 32*

There was a knowing look on the immortals face. “What you say is true, Dragonborn, and I cannot deny that. You may pass into the next world, but know this. If you fail to kill my first-born, then your soul will belong to me.”  
Gulping, Zofia nodded. “Okay.”  
She walked forward, her hand on her dagger in case the dragon priest decided to attack her. He remained still. Glancing down at the gateway that separated life and death, the stones were cracked and translucent in a large circle, blue, purple, and yellow light seeping through like a force trying to escape, the Dragon born took one last look at the large face of Akatosh. When he said nothing, she inhaled, and dove into the portal.


	11. Sovengarde

It felt as if ages had passed and yet it was mere minutes. As Zofia had fallen through the portal, she felt warmth it was the same warmth she knew when she was a small child running around on her family’s farm on the outskirts of Cheydinhal- before it fell to Imperial Rule.  
Before she knew it, she dipped through ivy clouds that pricked like cold needles upon her flesh and when she finally landed gently, she opened her eyes. 

If this is what Sovengarde was, Zofia was glad she wasn’t dead, yet.

It was cold and grim. Te platform she landed on had statues around her, heads down in prayer, holding an offering bowl with blue flames, much like Alduin’s own fire breath. Past the stairway, she could barely see the ground, much less the golden hall so many claimed. There was an ominous fog that obscured her vision. Stepping in there was a clear death sentence, so she used the Clear Skies shout to forge her own path. She walked in and dared not look back. Soon, she saw a shimmering figure in the distance, it was a Stormcloak soldier; he looked worried and even frightened. 

“You… you must turn back.” He approached Zofia in an unnatural way. “You must turn back! This is not a natural fog, this is what Alduin uses to feed off of us.”

He then looked at her, as if actually seeing her. “You… are not one of us. You still breathe. Why have you come?”

“To end his reign.” She answered firmly and walked past him.

The further she went, using her own shout, the more she saw wandering victims, caught in this tormenting purgatory, unable to find their way towards Shor’s Hall.

When she reached the peak of a small mountain that was similar to a sacrificial platform with two pedestals with blue fires, her heart nearly stopped. Sitting crossed legged in a meditative position, Kodlak Whitemane stared off into the mist, a delicate glow around him.  
“Kodlak…” Zofia breathed.

He turned, a bright smile on his aged face. “Hello, Zofia.”

There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but never got the chance. Where could she start? “Kodlak… I.” her voice failed.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, consoling her like a father would do to his daughter. “No words are needed. You’ve made me so proud. You brought back the Companions to its former glory. You freed me from Hircine so that I may feast with Ysgramor.”

“But I didn’t want you to… go.”

“I felt my time approaching before I had met you, and I want to thank you for giving me a second chance.”

There was a loud roar that echoed from every tree and rock, it was even more menacing than when Alduin roared in the otherworld.   
“You must hurry, Zofia. To Shor’s hall. End Alduin’s reign.”

He pushed her forward and as they separated, he faded from view. She wanted to stay with him, but he was right, there was still a battle that had to be won. 

Coming to what looked like a graveyard, there was a stunning, large hall sitting on a floating island, lights emanated from inside, and there was the faint sound of music.

She approached Bone Bridge, but was halted by a rather impressive, and handsome muscular man.

“I am Tsun. What reason do you have for a living to enter Shor’s Hall?”

She gulped, she hadn’t thought about that… “By right, I am the Dragonborn. I seek the help from the heroes of old to end Alduin’s reign.”  
“A noble cause, not many living would brave a venture to the Realm of the Dead, and return to tell the tale.”

Zofia bowed her head, her thoughts immediately on Ulfric, she didn’t say good bye… 

“Your mind is elsewhere, Dragonborn.” Tsun commented.

She lifted herself, tears beaten back, “I have friends in the Realm of the Living, those of whom I never said goodbye, in case both my body and soul make their final rest here.”

“I see, but, you are strong and have pushed this far against all odds, perhaps you will see them again. You may enter the hall.”

He stepped aside and, thanking him, she held onto the spine of the bridge, carefully walking across, there was no wind, but when she glanced down by accident, she could see no end to the waterfall.

Dizzy, she quickly stepped to the other side, and entered the Hall of Valor. Everything within sight was laced and built from gold, legendary bards where playing in harmony, many heroes ate from the bountiful table, and others chatted with each other, laughing jovially. 

One man approached Zofia, a man she knew from reading the companions, and even visiting his grave; Ysgramor. 

“Welcome, Dragonborn!” he greeted her like an old friend. “Our hall has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the Fearless, Hakon the Valiant, Felldir the Old.”

“Thank you, Master of the five hundred.” Zofia bowed and approached the three in the back.

“The Dragonborn appears before us,” Felldir was the first to speak “Are you ready to face this ageless foe?”

“Yes. Let us end this worm of death and destruction, let us save our brothers and sisters!” Gormlaith unsheathed her great sword, ready for battle.

“Worry not, young Dragonborn,” Hakon smiled to the living creature, “No longer will you have to face the beast alone.”

Feeling like they had a chance, that there was hope, Zofia followed them out of the hall and across the bridge. They stood at the edge of the mist and as four voices merged as one, they shouted into the obscure abyss until the fog had cleared and Alduin made himself known.

He roared angrily, shouting in his draconic tongue. Zofia dodged his fire breath and threw Dragonrend to subdue him. The four fought relentlessly, Alduin was formidable, but with three unliving warriors fighting him, and even Tsun entering the fray, Zofia didn’t feel so alone.   
Distracted by Alduin grabbing Gormlaith and throwing her, much like their last battle, Zofia barely had time to hear a cry, when Alduin again used his fire breath upon her. Alduin knew that even if he couldn’t snare the heroes, he could at least kill one and force them to lose hope.  
Free from the mortal bane, Alduin flew around, avoiding the spells and arrows. “You have lost your companion,” he yelled, motioning to the large fire that encased Zofia, “Your pitiful attempts to stop me have failed!”

“Your pride is your downfall, Devourer of Souls!” Felldir shouted back. “You cannot destroy us that quickly!”

Alduin glanced at Zofia with fury.

The fires faded, and instead of an ashen and distorted mass, Zofia emerged from the flames, her hair chopped, her armor mostly burned away, but she was very much alive. 

Furious, Alduin dove down to bite her when she unsheathed her sword and before he could bite her, she thrust the blade through his head, she was sprayed with saliva and blood, several of his sharp teeth jammed into her arm, but Alduin roared so loudly it shook her to the bone and flew back with the blade still in his mouth, his teeth still in her arm. Strange lights danced around Alduin before attacking him, he melted away until it was just his bones, then, they too burst a final time before the darkened skies opened up, small lights falling around Sovengarde, wherever it touched, life grew again, the teeth in her arm fell away light dust and any notion that she had been stabbed were darkened marks, and her drying blood.

“It’s over!” a stormcloak shouted gleefully.

Those souls who had been lost within the mist approached the bridge, approached the Dragonborn and the other heroes, cheering loudly. Even those who had remained in the hall stepped out. Amidst this joyous celebration, Tsun and Kodlak approached Zofia, grinning and holding her shoulder.

“It’s finally over, Zofia,” Kodlak gave her a brief hug.

“Yes, it’s time for you to return to the living. You will be welcome here, when it is your time, songs will be written about you and if ever you are in need of assistance, use this shout to call on me.” Tsun stood before her and shouted, Zofia’s last glimpse of the Realm of the Dead was a vision of Talos, Mara, Akatosh, and the other gods, nodding to her, silently approving of her actions


	12. Return to Tomorrow

Arm bound in a sling thanks to the aid of the Greybeards, Zofia took three days to recover, but instead of traveling to the Pale, she stayed out on the tower, meditating and recovering. Every so often, she heard the cheers and celebrations on the wind; the cities and towns were celebrating the downfall of Alduin, celebrating the Dragonborn.

This is partially why Zofia stayed near High Horothgar, she was not ready for Skyrim to see its hero.

“He is asking for you.” Arngeir approached her.

Immediately thinking it was Ulfric, Zofia bowed her head, “Please send him away.”

Her master gave an amused chuckle, “Not Ulfric Stormcloak my dear, our eternal master.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Zofia was slightly disappointed, yes she didn't want to see him, but she did want to know that he still cared for her.

Before she went down to see Paarthurnax, Arngeir said, “You’ve been quiet since your return. What happened?”

Zofia struggled, what could she tell him? Her fears? Worries? What would he say? She exhaled. “When Alduin died, I didn't absorb his soul… What if he didn’t actually die? What if I just repeated history and sent him to a different timeline? I don’t know that he’s actually dead, and speaking of, I should be dead! I was caught in the base of a fire and survived. How is that possible? I’m so afraid of what might happen.”

Letting her vent all her worries into silence, the Greybeard only said. “We don’t know what happened. Perhaps there is another mission for you, perhaps you were meant to survive because the gods have more paths for you to take. Maybe his life finally came to an end, maybe it didn’t, but all that matters right now is that you saved this era, this world, and so many lives. We’re all indebted to you.”

As satisfied as she could be, Zofia climbed to the Throat of the World, and saw Paarthurnax on his perch, as well as the other dragons perched on their snowy platforms at the tip of the mountain.

The elder dragon spoke in his tongue, roaring to the heavens; before, the noise would’ve made Zofia flinch and cover her ears, now, she knew the dragon tongue, knew what this was.

A ceremony, about the Last Dragonborn defeating Akatosh’s first Dragon.

As the others flew off, and the ceremony finished, Paarthurnax spoke in the common tongue. “You have done well, dovah. You have defeated an age old enemy and survived.”

Again, Zofia didn’t feel like celebrating. “Thank you.”

“So why do you look so down? You have marked and changed your history forever.”

“Master…” 

“I see…” he spoke wisely. “It is not your people you fear to tread with, it is one. Another who has learned the Way of the Voice, another who seeks your return, even now.”

Sighing, Zofia nodded. “Too much has changed, I can’t stop now, the vampires are growing more restless, I need to find who this First Dragonborn was and stop him. Master, what can I do?”

“That is not for me to say, but the longer you wait, the herder it will be to accept the truth. I will be around, when you have need of me, Dovah.” He flew off and shortly after, Odahviing landed.

“I doubt many of the dov will willing follow Paarthurnax’s ‘Way of the Voice’. But I digress.” 

Zofia chuckled, “Ancient, blood hungry dragons living in peace with the ‘Way of the Voice’ Yeah, I can’t see it.”

Odahviing gave what could be counted as a chuckle. “You amuse me, Dovah. If you every have need of me, call me and I will come.”

He too flew off, and near the empty word wall, she touched the cold stone meditatively. In an instant, she felt herself being transported to a strange island, flashes of villagers in curved buildings, a group of people in fur clothing, strange stones that chanted a tune. She delved into the depths of a strange book and took her to a place of wonder and fear. It was green, there were so many books from the different ages bound together, and wretched slithering creatures roamed the halls of books and tomes. Her mind went further outside the eternal library to a large dais in the middle of nowhere, where a man in a mask paced around, reading, sending notes. He turned and saw her.

“The Last Dragonborn…” he approached her menacingly, “Soon, I will have your soul”

 

Zofia pulled away from the word wall before the man touched her. She wasn’t in that island or in that netherworld, she was still on the Throat of the World, in Skyrim. Frightened, she sat with her back to the wall, and closed her eyes. “The First Dragonborn…” she whispered in realization. “Miraak is the First Dragonborn.”

The cultists, the spells, the attacks on her, even the dream she had where Miraak left her in the mercy of Hermaeus Mora and his slithering tentacles always reaching out. It all made sense. Mora had not one, but two champions, but he was getting restless with Miraak, who tried escaping his eternal prison, who had outlived his usefulness. But Mora couldn’t kill him because he needed to know that she would be his new champion!

The thought of being a pet to Mora for his own needs, his own wants made her sick. Yes, she had to kill Septimus, but the man almost throttled her; it was in self-defense! 

She couldn’t face Miraak just now, she needed to think about something else, something that wasn’t horrible…

“Ulfric.” She spoke to the wind, willing to hear his voice again. He was her salvation. She needed to see him. 

She quickly got up and ran down the mountain, not bothering to grab her things, instead, mounting her horse, and cantering to Windhelm.  
 


	13. Nothing Lasts Forever

Three days. 

It took Zofia three days to get to Windhelm, and still it wasn’t fast enough. Leaving her horse at the stable, passing the sparse stormcloak guards. All the while, she realized how absurd this was, she was actually running back into his arms, needing to feel something other than pain and death. Entering the Hall of the Kings, she thought he would be there, that he would wait for her… All there was, was Ulfric’s advisor.

“He’s gone, miss.” He approached her, putting away the stacks of books in Ulfric’s war room.

“Where?”

“He’s marching on Solitude.”

“WHAT?” she was shocked, her voice echoed of the stone walls. “He’s going to get himself killed!”

He sighed and nodded, “He waited for you. Every day. Galmor told him that it was time to march, to make the final attempt to throw the Empire and Thalmor out of Skyrim. But, our Jarl needed you by his side, and when you did not return, he gave up, and started the march.”

“When?” Zofia asked, desperate to find him.

However, Ulfric’s advisor was not too keen on giving her this information so quickly.

“Please.” She pleaded. “I need to know where he is. I need to help him. I know what he means to you, to everyone here. I know it was wrong to treat him how I did, but if you want to see him return, victorious, then you need to tell me where he is.”

His soured look softened, “I received a note yesterday… they were approaching Dragon’s Bridge. You may be too late.”

“Not likely.” Zofia ran from the room, back the way she came and as soon as she was in the largest clearing, she called Odahviing, needing his help one more time.  
He came quickly, far faster than when they had laid the trap for him. 

“Ah, Dovahkiin.” He greeted, the horses in the stables reared and whinnied, the soldiers and passengers screamed and ran. He ignored them. “Indeed you have survived. How can I help you?” 

“Please, I need to get to Solitude! It’s urgent!” Zofia held her hand out to the guards, telling them to stand down.

The great beast lowered himself, the back of his throat aglow from the flames he threatened to unleash if any soul dared test him. Zofia pulled herself up and stroked the back of his neck, his familiar scales pressing against her.

“Let’s go.”

“Aye.”

He lifted high into the sky, his wings raising them up and with a subtle twist, he flew towards Solitude, passing High Hrothgar where the Greybeards would be meditating on the tower. What would they say if they knew she was engaging in a final battle for Skyrim’s freedom… would they scold her for choosing sides? Or would they silently agree with her? 

She knew riding horseback would take too long to reach Ulfric, and Zofia knew she wanted to make an entrance, to show that the world was rid of Alduin, and she still breathed. 

“We are close now,” Odahviing called to her and yes, the Blue Palace was in sight, the rising sun was still low enough that its rays glimmered off the lapis ramparts and roofing. “Be ready, Dovah.”

“I am.” She called back, lifting herself slightly with her bow and arrow in hand. 

Odahviing roared loudly, temporarily halting the bloody battle between the Stormcloaks and Imperials. As he came low enough to the rooftops, Zofia skillfully jumped down, landing on the very top. She whistled to the dragon and he swooped in, grabbing a few Imperial soldiers in his claws before flying up and dropping them over the waters.  
Her arrows raining down on the enemy, Zofia kept higher up, but yelled down to her fellow stormcloacks.  
“Where is he?” she asked. 

“He just made it to Castle Dour with Galmor!” the stormcloak called back, pulling her bloodied blade from the Imperial’s chest.

Using the roofs and battlements as her road, Zofia bolted, she knew Tullius and Legate were formidable foes, and she feared Ulfric and Galmor’s strength alone might not be enough. 

Jumping down, she burst through the door to see Tullius standing over Ulfric, his blade raised. 

“You must die, so we can keep the peace, Ulfric!” Tullius talked himself into killing the man.

“NO!” Zofia shouted, her dragon’s blood projecting her voice to shout.

Tullius was thrown back against the wall, his sword soon came after, stabbing him in his side. He gasped, and fell to the floor. 

Legate and Galmor had been in a bloody feud around the corner. She turn to see her leader slain, and Galmor wasted no time in striking her from behind. She fell, weakly breathing out her last breath.

Zofia helped Ulfric up, he was scarred in several places, his armor strained and torn.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

Zofia said nothing as she approached Tullius. “I can heal you, and you can return to Cyrodill.”

Galmor and Ulfric stared at her, she was actually offering peace between them. 

“No.” he rasped. 

He heard Legate breathe, “Please, let me see Sovngarde…” her strained body went limp.

Tullius looked up to see the two standing next to each other. “A Stormcloak and the Dragonborn… working together. I knew I should’ve killed you when you first approached me.”

“And that was your mistake, Tullius.” She responded coolly.

“Please listen, we’ve both been betrayed.”

“What is he talking about?” Galmor approached, his bloodied axe ready to end the man.

Zofia held up her hand to stop him. “You’re talking about the Thalmor.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a fool, Tullis.” Ulfric snarled. “You actually thought the Thalmor wanted your help? That they would ally themselves with you? You were used like a puppet and thrown away when you were no longer needed.”

“I realize that now. Nothing lasts forever…” Tullius’ labored breathes grew quick, “You must stop them.”

“And we will.” Zofia declared.

“You should’ve realized their plan sooner, Tullius.” Ulfric spoke, determined to make him see that they were not wrong.

“Yes. And I am a fool for it.” Tullius’ failed his last words, his breath quickened and with one final exhale, his lead lolled to the side, his bloodied hand settling.

Galmor sheathed his weapon. “Come, your soldiers will want to hear you speak.”

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

It was just the two left.

“Zof-” he spoke but she smacked him hard across the face. 

He was shocked, and slightly angry, but that disappeared as she pressed him against the nearby wall and kissed him deeply.

Moaning, he returned the embrace, his arms snaking around her figure. Her entire body responded with a warm shudder, “You… stupid pig.” She whispered through breaths. “What if I hadn’t been here in time?”

Grinning, Ulfric’s hands raked her back, tugging longingly to remove the armor. “I knew you would be. And, I had it under control.”

She pulled back, “Sure you did.”

There were cheers outside, Zofia and Ulfric both knew what it meant; they wouldn’t have a moment of peace.

“Stay by my side.” He asked.

She agreed. 

They walked out, side by side to see the surviving Stormcloaks and townspeople cheering for a final victory, the sun’s light shimmered. Zofia half listened to Ulfric’s speech, who included his soldiers, the living and dead, and Zofia. 

She smiled but felt awkward. 

When the speech was finished she, Ulfric, and Galmor travelled back to Windhelm; resting when they needed to, travelling most hours.

Both Ulfric and Zofia knew what they wanted, but they couldn’t even kiss in front of the others, and it only made their need greater. 

As they passed the cities and towns, the ones who had sided with the Stormcloaks cheered and partied, throwing flowers to the soldiers, some handing foods and wines. 

Finally, back at Windhelm, it was the largest celebration anyone had seen. Even the snowy winds couldn’t dampen the mood as everyone celebrated the freedom from the Imperials and the Thalmor.

That night, while feasting in the Hall of Kings, Zofia who had determinedly stayed in the back figured Ulfric would stay with his company and celebrate. She turned to head upstairs, catching a glimpse of the war table, there were two gold bands on a silver chain. She wondered if Galmor had finally found someone and with a small smile, she opened the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ulfric’s deep voice stopped her. 

“Bed. I am exhausted.”

“Without me?” he neared her, teasing her in the same fashion.

Zofia smiled. “You still have a celebration to attend.”

“They are getting along well enough without me.” He grinned, stroking her cheek and studying her features in the candlelight.

She took his hand and led him to his room, ready for a long night breathing in his lust and embracing him without regret.


End file.
